


come back when you can

by disequilibrium



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:31:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4742963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disequilibrium/pseuds/disequilibrium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall’s still fifteen when his parents finalize their divorce. He’s sixteen when he realizes the one might not be a ‘her’ after all, might be a ‘him’, has a crisis about it. Seventeen when he realizes he wants to kiss Harry more than anyone else. Seventeen when he does kiss Harry more than anyone else. Eighteen when he stops kissing Harry and packs up the old junker of a car he bought with his hard-earned money from his grocery clerk job and drives off to the city to start a new life; when he leaves the whole small town behind. Eighteen when he follows the dream that’s been tugging at his heart since he was twelve years old and got his hands on his first guitar.</p><p>Twenty-three, now, when he finally comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come back when you can

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nameless_Snowflake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nameless_Snowflake/gifts).



> The prompt: "Niall was stood up on a date and he starts tearing up and gets ready to leave when there was a cup of coffee brought to him. He sees there's a joke written on the cup and that makes him laugh. The cute brunette behind the counter smiles at him. And Niall comes back everyday to get a joke on his cup but mostly to see Harry."
> 
> I feel like I strayed from the prompt quite a bit, but this idea just hit me, so I sort of rolled with it... it's hardly even a coffee shop AU, but I hope you enjoy it all the same! Also, for those of you who are interested, it's totally set in Canada, in a small town in the Rocky Mountains that I love and miss very much :)

 

 

When Niall’s fifteen years old and Holly breaks up with him over text while he waits for her at the coffee shop, he cries. He knows he’s supposed to be a man, now. A man who can look after a woman and keep her happy and try to win her back, instead of drowning fat tears in a cold cup of coffee on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. He just really liked her, is the thing.

“It’ll be alright, Niall,” Harry tells him. He says it gently, as he brings him a fresh cup of coffee on the house. Niall wants to point out that giving away free coffee isn’t going to help him keep his shiny new job, but he’s still too busy blubbering to say much of anything. So he just wraps a hands around it because it’s nice and warm against his fingers and that makes him feel better. Harry gives him a sympathetic smile, rubbing his back as he sniffles and scrubs at his eyes.

“You’ll find her, one day. The one.”

His words don’t help, they just make Niall feel anxious. Like finding _the one_ is going to have to be his life’s pursuit. But he nods, anyway, trying to focus on the soothing way Harry’s fingers press between his shoulder blades. He knows loads of people go through this. Knows he has a whole life full of other girls ahead of him. The tears stop welling in his eyes, and Harry gets called back to the counter to help another customer, leaving Niall to will the red splotches from his face and piece the last shreds of his ego together.

It’s five minutes later that he actually brings the cup to his mouth and takes a sip. In doing so, he notices the careful scribble just below the rim, Harry’s unmistakable writing in blue ballpoint pen.

‘ _What do you call an alligator that wears a vest?_ ’

Niall sighs, but he can’t help the way the tightness in his chest starts to ease. He nudges the sleeve down to where Harry’s hidden the punch line, firming his lips together because the only thing worse than Harry’s jokes is when he gets someone to actually laugh at them.

‘ _An investigator._ ’

Niall hates Harry, he really does. Hates the way the chuckle escapes him before he can stop it. Hates the wide, dimpled grin being shot at him from across the room. Hates the way fondness pools over the ache in his heart, like the bruise is already starting to fade.

 

-

 

Niall’s still fifteen when his parents finalize their divorce. He’s sixteen when he realizes _the one_ might not be a ‘her’ after all, might be a ‘him’, has a crisis about it. Seventeen when he realizes he wants to kiss Harry more than anyone else. Seventeen when he _does_ kiss Harry more than anyone else. Eighteen when he stops kissing Harry and packs up the old junker of a car he bought with his hard-earned money from his grocery clerk job and drives off to the city to start a new life. When he leaves the whole small town behind. Eighteen when he follows the dream that’s been tugging at his heart since he was twelve years old and got his hands on his first guitar.

Twenty-three, now, when he finally comes home.

 

-

 

He experiences an overwhelming sense of déjà vu as he pulls off the highway and starts down the narrow road. So far, nothing’s changed. The tall summer trees still bow overhead, leaves glittering as they flutter between stoic pines and Douglas fir. Every so often, the forest gives way to a gravel drive and a tucked-away home, proud but snug in the ever-looming promise of fall. Other times, it passes close enough to the edge of the ridge that he catches a glimpse down the valley, to the braided streams crisscrossing their way into the wide, flat lake. His old, worn _Weathervanes_ album loops for a third time over the scratchy car speakers – _our limbs have been asleep we need to get the blood back in them_ – as he rounds a corner and sees the town spread out below. It looks exactly as he left it. Small, simple, contained. A single bell tower rises slightly above the rest, attached to a prosaic City Hall. The proud, black steam engine still rests behind the weathered red train museum building. Everything else is pale and grey, neat and tidy. It’s not much to look at. But it’s home. 

The trees close in again as the road winds down, down, down, and then suddenly he’s at the bottom of the hill and the Cooper’s Foods sign appears, looming over the last gas station out of town. Even when he lived here, it looked out of place when it wasn’t snowing. If he squints he can see tall snow banks piled up by the plow at the south end of the parking lot, and the ice frozen in white splotches across the asphalt; he can hear shopping carts tremble and shake as customers struggle to push them across the lot. He figures it’ll be a month until the first snowfall. He wonders whether he’ll still be here, then, and his stomach twists uncomfortably. He remembers how badly he always wanted to leave, saving up for his car, dreaming about open roads and cities big enough to exist on maps. He remembers the way the town felt more and more like a prison the older he got. He also remembers two weeks ago, when he didn’t renew his lease on his apartment in the city and started packing his things with shaking hands. They don’t shake, now, even if his knuckles are white from gripping the wheel.

He’s not sure if it’s forever. But it’s what he needs right now. He bypasses the city center and takes the next exit, because he doesn’t think he’s quite ready to revisit all the places he used to know. He needs to see his dad, needs a hot meal and a good night’s rest because his legs ache and his eyes burn from the seven-hour drive. The road gradually turns from asphalt to gravel, and a gust of wind sends red-yellow leaves skittering across the ground. It’s not even dinner time, but the sun’s already dipping behind the mountains as he turns down the driveway to Bobby’s house. It looks the same as it always did, humble and brown, tired but sturdy. Bobby’s truck is parked out front, and Niall pulls in beside it, looking at the familiar front door with the rusted wind chime hanging next to it, the windows grimy with age. He’s certain those same curtains have hung in them since the day he was born.

As soon as he shuts the engine off, he’s struck by a resounding silence. It seems to slip slowly down the mountains like an invisible fog, like the shadow cast by the tall, iron peaks. Somewhere in the distance, eighteen-wheelers rumble east and west through river-carved passes and dynamite-stricken hillsides, but out here the rest of the world feels distant and untouchable. When he climbs out of the car, there’s a distinct chill in the air. He pauses to look up toward the sunset, taking a deep breath, letting the smell of the pines fill his lungs. He never thought that this would feel right. But it doesn’t feel wrong. He’s not the same person he was, five years ago, he doesn’t itch under his skin any more. He’s been lost, but now he feels free.

His dad pulls him into a tight hug when he opens the door, and Niall laughs, leaning into it. He smells of clean flannel and firewood smoke, and the stubble on his jaw scratches Niall’s cheek.

“How’s the drive?” he asks, stepping back so Niall can shuffle in, squeezing his duffle bag and guitar through the door. He’s got other things in the car, plates and clothes and whatever else he couldn’t sell, but he reckons he can grab it all later.

“Long,” he muses, kicking off his shoes and letting Bobby close the door behind him, “I stopped in Hope, at that one restaurant, had a turkey sandwich just for you.”

Bobby laughs, a quiet rumble that reminds Niall of evenings spent by the fire, watching old soccer matches on TV, sipping hot chocolate while the snow swirls outside.

“I’d almost forgotten about that place, it’s been so long. Did you have any pie?”

Niall smiles, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. He likes this about his dad, how easy he can be, how talking to him always feels like everything’s right with the world.

“Yeah, the key lime.”

“Always did like the key lime,” Bobby recalls. He steps toward the hall, gesturing for Niall to follow. Niall shuffles after him, down the cramped hallway and up the stairs. When they reach the top, Bobby nods him off toward his room.

“It’s all ready for you in there. I’ll have pasta for you in a few.”

Niall feels himself brighten, stomach growling to life like it’s suddenly realized it’s starved. Lunch was so long ago.

“Pasta? With your sauce, too?”

The corners of Bobby’s eyes crinkle, and Niall’s heart squeezes at the familiar sight. His laugh lines have deepened, he can see, now that he’s looking at him properly in the light. And his hair’s gone greyer, more salt than pepper. But he’s still Bobby, in a faded sweater Niall’s certain he’s always had and creased blue jeans.

“Don’t expect it to be a regular thing, now,” Bobby warns, but Niall knows that’s a yes and he grins wide. His dad’s signature sauce; he can smell it, now, wafting out from the kitchen, doesn’t know how he missed it before.

“Be right back, then!” he promises. Bobby shakes his head at his eagerness, but he looks pleased as Niall heads off to his old room.

 

-

 

It hasn’t changed much. He knows Bobby rented it out for a while, but the bed’s still in the same spot and the dresser’s pushed back against the wall, the carpet clean like someone recently took a Rug Doctor to it. He drops his duffle bag down on the floor and sets his guitar across his navy blue duvet, running his hand over the case. He wonders if his dad’s still got his first acoustic somewhere, tucked away and out of tune and waiting. He wonders if he’d feel the same holding it as he did when he was younger, when it felt like the whole world was just waiting and ready for him. When it felt like he could’ve done anything. He makes a note to ask about it at dinner, and pulls himself up, trying to stretch out all the kinks in his back and his arms. The light is warm through the window; he can see the trees outside, and the shed full of the things his dad always claims he’s going to find time to fix. Niall’d bet anything that if he went in there right now, the lawn mower would still be wrapped up in a tarp in the corner, and the cupboard with the broken door would still be collecting dust next to the work bench.

It’s a good feeling, to think there are some things that will always stay constant. To think there are some things he can always come back to, no matter how far he strays.

 

-

 

They eat dinner quietly, for the most part. Bobby’s never been one to ask a thousand questions; he knows how Niall is, knows how when he has something to say he’ll say it. Niall’s happy enough just to be scarfing down his food, savouring every bite of the thick, chunky tomato sauce.

“You can’t get it like this in the city,” he tells his dad, and Bobby nods, sipping his beer.

“Good you’ve got something to come back to, then,” he chides. Niall laughs, quietly, though he understands what Bobby means, what he’s trying to say.

“I’ve got you, too,” he points out. Bobby just smiles that smile, watching him with a softness Niall can’t help but notice. He slurps up a noodle, wiping a bit of sauce off his chin.

“What?” he asks, once the quiet’s stretched on long enough. Bobby shakes his head.

“You look a man, now,” he explains. Niall feels colour rise in his cheeks.

“Dad –”

Bobby laughs, setting his beer down and leaning back.

“Even learned to shave on your own.”

There might be a hint of sadness in his voice, a hint of nostalgia. It’s too much, though, for Niall to acknowledge it. There’s already a profound guilt stirring in his chest. He gives him a small smile and shrugs.

“Wasn’t easy. I nicked myself a lot, at first.”

Bobby just nods. Niall knows he doesn’t need that, apologies or explanations. It’s just an observation of time passing, of Niall growing up. Figuring things out on his own, like he always had to do. Even as he finishes off his plate, he can feel Bobby watching him. Quietly observing, Niall thinks. He stands to clear the table, even as Bobby tries to protest.

As he runs the water hot into the sink, he glances back. Bobby’s still nursing his beer, still got that look on his face like he’s simultaneously proud and saddened by how much Niall’s grown. His expression clears when he sees Niall looking, however, and in a way Niall’s grateful for that. There are some things, he thinks, that don’t need to be said. That they both just know.

“Do you still have my guitar?” he asks, drizzling dish soap into the water and turning off the faucet. He grabs the dish cloth and plunges a plate in, suds sticking to his arms as he scrubs it. Bobby hums an affirmative.

“It’s in the laundry room. Not sure what condition, nobody’s touched it.”

Niall nods, making a mental note to find it later. It will probably need new strings, a good dusting.

He doesn’t get to it that night, though. Spends the evening with Bobby, instead, catching up on the talk in the town. Listening to the fire crackle. Heads off to bed and falls asleep to the echo of wolves howling off the mountains.

-

He makes a solid plan with himself to hit the town in the morning. When he wakes up, Bobby’s got toast and eggs ready for him in the kitchen. The smell awakes a strange ache within him, and as he pulls his jumper over his head and slides his feet into his slippers he feels much younger than he has in a long time. He thinks it must be the feeling of being taken care of – he’s not hastily eating a bowl of cold cereal in his small, empty apartment, worrying about making rent over getting new audio equipment. He’s comfortable and safe and loved, in a way that nothing can break. It’s overwhelming. He almost cries in a sort of relief as he makes his way down the hall, though he’s recovered himself by the time he reaches Bobby, ducking his head in response to the warmth in his father’s eyes.

“Morning,” he greets him as he takes his seat, piling eggs onto his plate.

“How’d you sleep?” Bobby asks, setting down the paper that was in his hand. Niall doubts he was actually reading it – he catches a glimpse of the headline, something about a chicken bylaw hearing. His lips twitch into a smile. Out here in the booneys, that’s what’s important.

“Pretty well,” Niall nods, digging into his eggs. They’re good and salty and fluffy, just the way he always liked them. The truth is, he slept better than he had for a long time, with the stars sparkling crisp and bright outside his window and not so much as a single siren tearing by, not so much as one drunken rendition of Don’t Stop Believing on a street corner at 3 am. He thought the silence would keep him up, but it did just the opposite. He reaches for a piece of toast, pulls the butter closer to himself and slathers it on. Bobby nods.

“Any plans for today?”

The question is light, carefully casual, and Niall replies in kind.

“Gonna unpack the car, then thought I might go see the town, pop in and say hi to Willie. Probably go by Cooper’s, too, if you need any groceries?”

He takes a bite of his toast, looking up. His dad is watching him with the same, soft expression as last night. It brings back that overwhelming feeling in his chest, and he realizes how he’s been missed. How long it’s been since they sat here, face to face, speaking in person.

“Bit of milk would be fine,” Bobby tells him, and his voice is soft, too. Niall swallows his mouthful, sits up straighter.

“Da,” he begins, but Bobby shakes his head, cutting him off again.

“It’s good to have you back, Niall, however long.”

Niall nods, pretending not to notice the gruffness in his voice. A moment of silent understanding passes between them, and Niall goes back to his eggs, feeling more at home with every bite. When he finishes, he helps Bobby wash up again, rinsing the dishes and wiping the table down. Bobby’s still standing there when he finishes, hands pushed into his pockets like he does when he’s not quite sure of himself.

“I’m sorry about what happened, Niall,” he tells him. And Niall wasn’t expecting that, hadn’t really been thinking about the things that lead to his return. He feels his heart stutter, but the reassuring smile that flies to his lips is automatic.

“It’s alright, Bobby. Not your fault I choked at the last hurdle.”

They both know it’s not all that simple, but Bobby lets him leave it. He’s there if Niall wants to talk, Niall’s always known that. He just isn’t sure he’s ready, yet. He wants to pretend, for just a few days, maybe a week, that everything’s perfectly okay. Then he’ll find time to properly freak out about how he left it all behind and came scampering back here, about how he just couldn’t do it anymore.

 

-

 

He finds Willie a few hours later, in the shop, looking pleased as anything. He bellows Niall’s name from across the garage and hurries to wrap him in a hug that nearly knocks the wind out of him.

“Jesus,” Niall gasps out a laugh, squeezing him tight back. He smells of oil and grease and whatever other grime exists on the underbellies of trucks. It’s a good kind of stench.

“You’re really here!” Willie exclaims, pulling back and gripping Niall’s arms, looking him over like he can’t believe it. Niall rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing again, glancing over to where Paul’s shaking his head like he, too, is having trouble trusting his eyes.

“Yeah, let me go now,” he grins. His face hurts from it. Willie eventually complies, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm.

“You’ve filled out, then. Wasn’t sure if the pictures were doctored, you know, I thought you’d be ye big forever,” he holds his hand out in a gross underestimate of Niall’s height, back in the day. Niall groans and smacks his arm down.

“Get off it, we all know I’m the best looking in this family.”

Willie snorts, reaching to ruffle his hair with a grease-stained hand. Niall ducks away, his reflexes rusty but quick nonetheless.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Nialler. How’s that old crap machine of yours doing?”

Niall scowls in offense, even if ‘crap machine’ is probably the best – the only – way to describe his car.

“She’s fine, thanks for asking. Got me there just fine, got me back. Engine didn’t fall out like your expert opinion suggested.”

Willie chortles away at that. Paul’s already disappeared back to work, ever professional and reserved. Niall looks around at the trucks crammed into the small space, their bodies flecked with dirt and mud, manufacturer logos proudly emblazoned across the grills. Out here, it’s only poor students and old ladies who own anything smaller, and even then they’re designed to survive the harsh winters. That’s probably why his has lasted so long.

Willie claps a hand on his shoulder, distracting him from his observations.

“Listen, I’m gonna be off at six, you’ve got to come by the house and have some dinner. I’ll let Becks know, we can all catch up.”

Niall nods.

“Sure thing, long as Bobby can come. He was trying not to get all sentimental this morning, not sure I can leave him alone so soon.”

Willie laughs again, but Niall thinks he catches a flicker of understanding in his eye.

“’Course he can. He’s got Becks proper charmed, your dad.”

Niall grins at that.

“Tell her I’ll bring him, then, as my ticket for a meal. Tell her I’m gonna need to know why she’s settled for you, too, face like that.”

Willie cuffs him around the head for his trouble, and Niall chokes out a laugh. Willie’s smiling too wide to be offended. Niall tries not to think about what that means, about all the people he left behind who really did care.

“Missed your cheek,” Willie says fondly. He steps back toward the truck he was tinkering with before things can get too sappy, lifting his hand in a wave, “catch you at dinner. Say, six thirty. Bobby knows where mine is.”

Niall waves back, starting back to the street.

“Will do,” he agrees. Then, almost as an afterthought, adds, “missed your cheek, too.”

It’s the first time he’s admitted to missing anything, or anyone. It’s not an especially profound moment, of course, but something inside of him starts to give.

 

-

 

He putters around town for a while after that. Getting familiar with everything again, making sure nothing’s changed too much. He’s shocked by the community center – it’s got a proper pool, now, not like the dingy one they had before. A pool with a small rock climbing wall hanging over it and a slide and two diving boards and a hot tub, he discovers, as he peers through the condensation on the tall windows. He half expects to see Liam there in his lifeguarding uniform, overlooking all of the goings-on with his watchful eye. He suddenly misses Liam a lot, and makes a mental note to ask his dad or Willie what’s become of him. Whether he’s working at the fire hall like he always dreamed. He’d just gotten into the training, when Niall left, and it was all he’d ever talked about.

After the community center, Niall climbs back in his car and drives toward the Cooper’s Foods. He passes the little gallery where Zayn used to work before he got into his fancy art college, and the City Hall building, and the whole strip of outdoor adventure outfitters. It isn’t until he drives by the coffee shop that he thinks to go in. Just on the off chance that Harry’s still working there, even though it’s been a good three years since he really spoke to him. If you don’t count the stupid birthday e-mails he still gets (and sends, because even after everything he couldn’t break Harry’s heart like that). He doesn’t even know if Harry’s aware that he’s back, he didn’t tell many people he was coming in the first place. Still, he parks his car down a side street and checks his hair in the mirror.

His stomach twists in knots, like it did when he first saw the town again from the ridge. It’s a moment before he gets to courage to climb out of the car and approach the door to the shop. He tries not to think about the way everything went, about the way Harry used to look at him like he was the moon and the stars and the sun and the way he basically told Harry he wasn’t enough. The way he left Harry behind. He knows Harry always understood; Harry knew him better than anyone. He knows it would have been a sort of murder of his own soul to stay. But the guilt’s never gone fully away. It’s probably part of the reason they lost touch in the first place.

He pulls open the door, the little bell hanging off of it jingling merrily. His eyes scan the room quickly, but there’s no familiar mop of curls, no bright green eyes. In fact, the only person in the shop is the young woman at the counter. She smiles warmly as he shuffles up. He doesn’t recognize her. She must be one of the people who come here for winter, to work whatever job they can find to fund their ski habits. He gives her a friendly smile.

“Hi, could I just get a regular coffee?” he asks, giving the menu a perfunctory glance even though he’s never been one for fancy drinks. Something he inherited from Bobby, probably.

“For here or to go?” she asks, punching in his order. He frowns thoughtfully.

“Mmm, I’m gonna sit for a bit, but better make it to go. Just in case.”

She smiles and nods, ringing up his total. He hands over a crumpled bill and goes to take a seat by the window, peering out at the street. It’s more overcast, today, clouds hanging in the sky even after the morning fog lifted. It feels right, more like he remembers, to have them there. Maybe the snow will come early this year. He’s starting to think he’ll be here to see it, either way. He scratches at a groove in the wooden table, musing at how the same imperfection was probably there the last time he sat in this coffee shop. How he’s probably chipped at it before, unknowingly. It’s like the ghost of himself is everywhere.

The woman brings him his coffee, setting it carefully in front of him. He gives her a small smile.

“Thank you,” he reaches for it, and she nods.

“Just the way you like it,” she tells him.

He furrows his brow, at that.

“How do you know –”

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes and turns to go back behind the counter. Niall frowns, returning his attention to the cup. He spins it slowly in his hand, and that’s when he finds it:

‘ _What do clouds wear under their shorts?_ ’

His heart leaps into his throat. He tries to swallow it back into his chest, nudging the sleeve down.

‘ _Thunderpants_.’

He doesn’t know when the tears start to well in his eyes, but they’re just there suddenly. He turns right as Harry steps up behind him, in his stupid green apron, hair pulled back in a bun. He’s so much taller and broader than before and Niall pulls himself to his feet so fast that he almost knocks the chair over.

“Harry,” he breathes. Harry laughs, but it sounds watery. There’s a moment of hesitation where Niall’s not sure whether it’s okay to hug him, whether Harry might be mad or hurt that they stopped talking like they used to, but then Harry’s pulling him into a warm embrace and Niall wraps his arms tight around him. And that’s when it finally hits him that he’s home. Sinks into him like a stone into a well, settles in his stomach.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles, resting his mouth against the firm line of Harry’s shoulder. He smells like coffee and faintly of lavender and vanilla. Harry tightens his hold on him, rocking him from side to side. Niall can feel the way his cheek’s pressed against his hair and he closes his eyes. He hasn’t felt this way for so long, could never really replicate this bond with anyone else, started to think he’d just gone numb. If that’s the case, then hugging Harry sends the blood rushing back through his limbs, his toes and his fingertips, and he just wants to hold him and never let him go again.

“Niall,” Harry finally murmurs, like he can’t believe this is real. “Wasn’t sure it was really you, I had to make Amy bring you the coffee in case. I was like, if it isn’t you, it’s probably a sign I should call. Had my phone ready and everything, I’m so sorry I haven’t called.”

Niall shakes his head and laughs, pulls back a little to look at Harry properly.

“It’s me who should be sorry, I just… well, maybe we’re both bad at it.”

Harry smiles, a bit sadly. Niall knows how he feels. He pulls his hands from around Harry and reaches to cup his face, runs his thumbs along his cheekbones and lets his fingers brush his jaw.

“You look so much older, like. And your _hair_.”

He laughs again, leaning to inspect Harry’s bun. Harry ducks his head obediently, automatically. Niall shakes his head.

“Can’t believe you let it grow so long.”

“I always wanted to, you know that,” Harry whines, straightening back up to look Niall over. His eyes flicker everywhere, like he needs to inspect every part, like he couldn’t possibly ever know enough about Niall’s features.

“You look almost the same,” he decides, with a nod. Like he’s relieved about it.

“Older, though, right?” Niall asks, moving his hand from Harry’s face to rub at his own jaw, “I can grow facial hair, now.

Harry chuckles.

“Sure, older, yeah.”

Niall frowns at him, but it only lasts a moment. As if he’s just realized how close they are, Harry steps back, lowering his arms. Niall doesn’t miss the way his fingers linger on his waist. He gives Harry’s a little squeeze before dropping his own hands.

“Wow, jeez. You’re here! Welcome home,” Harry shakes his head, then glances back toward the counter. “You have some time? We can sit.”

Niall’s already gesturing for him to take the seat across from him, sinking into his own.

“Yeah, of course. Just have to grab some milk before Cooper’s closes, but that’s not for a bit.”

Harry calls out to his coworker, Amy, to “woman the counter”. She just waves him off with a bored expression and goes back to the book she’s reading. Week days always were slow, here.

“So! I mean, how long have you been here?” Harry settles back in his seat, letting his legs sprawl a bit. Niall remembers when he started to grow up, when he was all clumsy with his new, long limbs. He wonders whether that’s still the case.

“Just got in yesterday. I was driving around town, noticed the coffee shop and wondered if you might still be working here.”

He shrugs. Harry grins.

“Yup. Only part time, though, I’ve got a job at the paper too.”

Niall raises an eyebrow, unable to hide his amusement.

“Oh yeah? Did you write the article on the chicken bylaw controvery?”

Harry snorts quietly, tucking his chin down.

“Nah, they don’t let me write the _real_ news, yet,” he glances up at Niall, and Niall can see how secretly proud he is regardless. He lowers his voice as he continues, glancing around like one of the zero people in the coffee shop might be a spy from the paper. “Mostly they’ve got me interviewing old people around town, finding out their stories for the community section. Did a great piece on this one guy who was an engineer for the railways.”

Niall nods, making a mental note to try and hunt that particular one down.

“Seems right up your alley, actually. Charming everyone north of sixty into telling you their deepest secrets.”

Harry’s smile grows at the thinly veiled compliment.

“Yeahh, it’s been fun. I get fed so much tea and biscuits. Once someone made me a pound cake.”

Niall laughs, a proper one that leaves Harry looking even more pleased.

“A pound cake! A whole one?”

Harry nods.

“Yup, a whole one! I shared with mum, of course, but it was delicious. You don’t get pound cakes like that anymore.”

He somehow manages to sound perfectly wistful. Niall rests his chin on his hand, fondness sweeping through him as he watches his old friend. His best friend, he decides then and there, because if some things never change then that should be one of them.

“How’s your mum, by the way?” he asks. He tries to keep the question careful, but it’s one he needs to ask. Harry’s lips pull into the slightest frown, but it only lasts a moment before it’s replaced by an easy smile.

“Better. So much better, actually. She’s been working again, just as a secretary though, but for a year and a half. She says being around the kids again has really helped her recovery, and it’s like… you can see her getting her strength back every day, you know? They think she’s really beat it, this time.”

An anxiety Niall didn’t even know he was feeling seems to slip away at the news, and he can’t help the bright smile that flashes across his face.

“That’s great, Harry! That’s like- amazing. Seriously.” He nods, and almost goes to take Harry’s hand. Something stops him, though. He thinks it might be the guilt over how he left Harry to look after his mum on his own, how he left him to fight that battle for himself. After Harry helped him through everything in his own life. It’s something that always ate away at him, but it was easier to ignore when he was so far away, pretending the first eighteen years of his life didn’t exist. Now, he wishes he could find a way to apologize. A way to make it up to him. He doesn’t think there is one. Harry smiles more, and nods.

“Yeah. Everything’s been so much better.”

An easy silence passes between them. Niall remembers his coffee and takes a sip. Harry seems lost in thought, for a moment, running his thumb over the surface of the table. He looks happy, relaxed. He looks like an adult. Niall feels a pang of sadness that he missed watching him turn into that.

“I know we already kinda said it, but I really am sorry,” he tells him at length. Because he feels like he needs to say it properly. He feels like he needs Harry to know. Harry glances back up at him, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Niall, it’s not your fault. You were planning on going before we even found out about the cancer, and I wouldn’t have let you stay just for me. We always knew you had to.”

It’s everything Harry told him before, when they were eighteen. When he helped Niall pack up his car with all of his worldly possessions. When Niall had asked him, one last time, whether he wanted him to stay.

“ _Go_ ,” Harry’d said then, and Niall had. One last kiss for good luck, one last tight hug. He’d watched Harry wave at him from the road until he turned the corner and it all disappeared from sight. Thought about it the whole drive down. He still aches for that moment, deep in his soul, still remembers the way he had to pull over an hour later and cry.

“I know,” he nods, curling his hands around his coffee. “I know, but some days I wish I’d stayed.”

 

-

 

He makes plans to see Harry later, somewhere outside of work so they can really properly catch up. There’s so much that’s happened – Niall’s whole life in the city, the ups and downs and in-betweens. Harry’s diploma in journalism that he somehow earned without Niall ever knowing. Relationships, mistakes made, chances taken. Harry didn’t ask why Niall came back, but Niall knows he wants to, knows the question was on the tip of his tongue through their whole conversation. He’s buzzing with energy as he buys his milk, a newfound feeling of purpose. However directionless it seems to be.

Bobby’s truck isn’t in the drive when Niall pulls up. It’s only 5:30, though, and he figures he’ll be back by six. Always was when Niall was growing up, anyway, and Bobby’s not one to change his routine.

He lets himself in and puts the milk away. Then, he sets about unpacking his duffel bag so he doesn’t have to rummage through it all the time. He knows he’s allowed to stay as long as he wants, here, but he doesn’t touch the rest of the boxes. If he decides he’s moving back, he would rather get out of Bobby’s hair, rent a place of his own. Find a job. There’s also the possibility that he’ll eventually return to the city. It’s all too much to think about, to decide right now. He’s tired of pushing for things to happen; for now, his plan is to let the cards fall as they may.

Like clockwork, the front door opens at six o’clock. Niall chuckles and pulls himself up, toeing the last drawer of his dresser closed. His clothes are all folded neatly inside, now, and it gives him a sense of ease. He leans over the banister to watch Bobby shuffle up the stairs, grinning at how familiar the sight is.

“Good day at work?”

Bobby looks surprised to see him, like he’d almost forgotten Niall’s back, and then smiles wide.

“You know how it goes. Always decent. How was town?” he climbs the rest of the way up the stairs, and Niall leans against the wall as he goes to stoke the fire in the wood furnace.

Niall tells him about Willie’s invitation for dinner, his shock at the community center (“Took them forever to get the bloody thing finished, could’ve used our tax dollars to repair the roads-” Bobby starts in immediately), how he popped in to say hi to Harry. Bobby’s face changes, at that. Like he wasn’t expecting it.

“Harry, I’ve seen him from time to time. Says his mother’s improving,” he tells Niall. Niall nods.

“Yeah, he told me the same. Seemed really happy.”

There’s a sort of awkward pause where Niall’s sure Bobby wants to ask something. Maybe how Niall feels, seeing Harry again. Bobby always did have them figured out, back then, as much as they tried to keep it on the down-low. When Niall came out to him, it seemed to confirm his suspicions. He was always good to Harry, though. Always liked him, seemed to like what he did for Niall.

“I missed him,” Niall breaks the silence, answering the unasked question. “I’m going to see him later, so we can catch up properly. Since he was at work.”

Bobby nods, and his expression turns more serious, his voice steady.

“I know you’re smart, Niall, but he’s a good kid. You don’t want to be…”

Niall cuts him off, shaking his head.

“I won’t do that all over again. I couldn’t. It’s just… he was my best friend, too. Mostly my best friend. I just, missed him, is all.”

Bobby watches him for a moment, and then his smile goes soft again, and he reaches to squeeze Niall’s arm.

“He must be so glad to have you back.”

They leave it at that.

 

-

 

Rebecca’s more than excited to see Niall when they get to Willie’s. She hugs him tight and rambles on about how much of a pain his cousin can be and how Niall’s grown out of his baby fat. She was always gorgeous, with her long black hair and full lips, and Willie still looks as proud of her as he did the day he finally mustered up the courage to ask her on a date and she said yes. They all settle down to dinner, spiced rice and chicken cooked in a rich sauce. She runs the kayak shop by summer and the ski shop by winter, and spends most of her free weekends dragging Willie on crazy adventures that, he claims, are all designed to nearly kill him. Rebecca just laughs, at that, and piles more stir fried veg onto his plate. It’s about halfway through the dinner when she sets down her fork and leans back, giving both Willie and Bobby a pointed look.

“Well, then, why haven’t you told him?” she asks. Bobby looks momentarily confused. Willie’s eyes go wide, but he quickly recovers and offers her a sweet smile.

“We wanted you to do the honours, love!”

She doesn’t look convinced, not for a second. Niall furrows his brow as Bobby lets out a quiet “ _oh_ ” of realization beside him. Rebecca rolls her eyes, leaning forward.

“The men in this family, I swear,” she reaches to take Niall’s hand across the table, closing both of hers around it. Her skin is soft, warm. Her voice goes gentler when she breaks the news. “I’m pregnant, Niall. Found out a month ago.”

He can tell she’s trying to keep her stern composure, but her lips are pulling into a smile and her eyes are alight. He feels strangely jarred at the news. He’s missed so much, their whole relationship really. Missed the wedding because gas skyrocketed that summer and he was living off of the nickels in his change jar. And now…

“Are you serious?” he asks, as it begins to sink in that he’s going to have a baby cousin. She looks incredibly proud, nodding, and Willie’s bright red beside her, all the way to the tips of his ears. Niall laughs at his expense. “That’s amazing. When’s the baby due?”

Rebecca seems almost bashful, now that all of the attention is on her.

“March, end of. Or early April.”

Niall lets out a slow breath, shaking his head.

“That’s incredible. Can’t even imagine Willie being a dad… reckon he’ll be good at it, though.”

His eyes flicker to Willie, who’s shaking his head.

“By god, I hope so,” he chuckles. Niall knows in his heart that Willie will. He always looked out for Niall, growing up. And he’s always had a sunny disposition, never really fought or raised his voice. Niall’s excited for him, beyond belief. And he also feels sad. Maybe he was misled by Bobby’s house, by how it’s never really changed. Like a safe little pocket for him to recede back into when the rest of the world becomes too much. Seeing how much he has missed, though, awakens something inside of him. A determination to be a part of things from now on, to be a part of their lives and the world. He feels fuller now, in his chest and his heart and his head, than he has for a long time. These things, the little things and the big things, are all so much more important than he ever realized before. He wants to cling to them, collect them. Cherish them. He squeezes Rebecca’s hand again, and she squeezes back and gives him a warm smile. It feels like a sort of acceptance; I know you were gone long, but the door is always open. The door is always, always open.

 

-

 

A couple days pass before Niall sees Harry again. He meets him down by the marsh, and they wander along the boardwalk until they can see the lake. The wind drifts lazily through the valley, plucking at the long reeds rising from the muck, making them sway in sync. Ducks huddle in tufts of grass, snapping at bugs. The two boys stand side by side, arms brushing in the glow of the afternoon sun. So far, they’ve wandered in silence, but once they stop Niall asks again about everything that’s happened with Harry, about his mum and finding out she was sick.

“It was really tough, that first year after you left,” Harry tells him, “you already know most of it, though. The chemo.”

Niall remembers that, remembers talking to Harry over the phone and trying to soothe him. Trying to tell him everything would be okay when they both knew it might not at all. He’d suggested coming back, once or twice, but Harry had always told him not to, and at that point Niall had been so enthralled with the city that he’d secretly been relieved. He’s disgusted at himself, now, for the way he felt. He leans into Harry more. At the very least, he can comfort the memory that coils in his eyes.

“Leaving work was really hard for her. She was like… good, though. Strong about it all. She never wanted me to see her struggle. It was scary, sometimes, because you could see what it did to her.”

He curls his hands around the wooden fence that separates them from the water. Niall wants to do more for him, but he isn’t sure how. Isn’t sure what’s allowed. He settles for just listening, for now, because that’s sometimes all you can do. Sometimes, it’s the best thing.

“They did three months of chemo the first time, and surgery. She was getting better for a while, and then it came back… and I guess it was just really hard, exhausting you know? And we had to go back into it. The chemo, and she was sick all the time,” he hunches his shoulders, staring down at the water, “the mastectomy, though, that was what really… I think, was almost hardest for her. That was the first time she really cried about all of it, that she let me see anyway.”

Niall feels his heart break a little, for Harry’s mum. He’d always admired her, growing up. She always had fruit ready to eat, always a kind word. Saying goodbye to her was almost as hard as saying goodbye to Harry, especially given the blow fate had dealt her only a month before. He reaches to trail his fingers down Harry’s spine, because he remembers Harry used to like that. Used to say it settled him, somehow; grounded him, that was the word. He wonders if it still does. Maybe so much has changed that he barely knows Harry at all, any more. Maybe this is a stranger he’s standing next to.

“She’s been on the mend since, though,” Harry continues after a moment, and his tone becomes lighter, more optimistic, “no sign of anything else, and she went right back to the school as soon as they’d let her. She’s been getting into running, now, too,” he laughs, his shoulders easing. Niall feels himself relax. He rests his hand against the small of his back, for a moment, then lowers it as Harry continues. “Says she’s going to run marathons, be a proper Terry Fox for the breast cancer cause. I told her you were back, actually. She’d love it if you came by.”

Harry looks over at him, expression hopeful, and Niall never could say no to that face.

“I’d love to,” he nods. And then he leans to hug Harry again, because he needs to. For all the years he wasn’t there to hug him, for everything he went through on his own. It might be too little too late, but it’s something. And Harry hugs him tight back, still. Niall wants to say sorry, again, but he bites his tongue. Sorry’s not enough, anyway. He’s going to have to own up to his decisions. Build it all back up on his own. He knows that, now; he’s known it a long time, even back when he was in his apartment feeling sorry for himself and how empty his life had become. That’s why he came home in the first place. He needed to get rid of the skeletons in his closet. Needed them to forgive him. Needed to forgive himself.

 

-

 

Anne greets him with a warm smile and a tight hug, and Niall’s struck by how small she seems. But her arms are still as secure as ever, and when she pulls back she looks at him like she’s trying to drink in every feature of his face, and she’s still as warm and lovely as he ever remembered.

“My god, you’ve grown,” she laughs, and he feels himself blush.

“Almost everyone says I’ve still got my baby face,” he mumbles. She makes a _tsch_ sound between her teeth and guides him into the house, giving Harry what Niall can only assume is a disapproving look. Harry makes an indignant sound, following after them.

“Well he _does_ , ma, it’s not an insult!”

“You’re right about that, Harry, it’ll keep him looking young,” she explains patiently, gesturing for Niall to take a seat at the table. Harry sits begrudgingly next to him, though Niall can see the laughter in his eyes. Anne brings them some cookies she’s made, apparently healthy with nuts and fruit and whatnot. Niall can’t help but feel twelve years old again, sitting there with oatmeal crumbs at the corners of his lips and sipping a glass of almond milk.

“Well, how’ve you been?” Anne asks, sitting across from them. Her hair’s short, now, and the lines on her face are deeper, but she’s still beautiful.

“Good,” Niall replies automatically, and then pulls his milk closer and laughs quietly, “weird. It’s weird being back, like. Seeing how everyone’s changed.”

Anne hums in agreement, a smile playing across her lips.

“How did the city treat you? Harry always had me listening to your music, on YouTube.”

Harry groans, sliding a hand over his face.

“ _Ma._ ”

“Well, he deserves to know,” she tilts her chin up. Niall can’t help the blush that rises in his cheeks, to think that Harry was still keeping tabs on him like that. He gives a little shrug, glancing quickly at his friend. Harry just shrugs back at him, like he knows there’s no point denying it. Niall clears his throat.

“It wasn’t bad, it… was very different, a lot faster than here. More going on. I had a lot of fun, though, recording that stuff. People seemed to like it.” He tries not to mention the deal he was offered, everything that happened subsequently.

Anne smiles more, taking a sip of milk. Niall can almost feel Harry watching him from the corner of his eye, figuring out there’s more to the story. If Anne notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“That’s good to hear, sweetheart. We were always worried about you.”

Niall shakes his head, fully embarrassed now. That they would have been worried about him while Anne went through one of the most terrifying ordeals of her life. It feels wrong.

“I worried about you, too, I… I should’ve called more. I wish I had.”

He knows the words aren’t right. He knows he’s saying them more for his own benefit than hers, saying them to alleviate his guilt. She’s never blamed him for leaving. In fact, if he’d offered to stay for her she would have urged him to go, just like Harry. He can’t help but think that he should have insisted, though. He reminds himself it’s too late now. Anne reaches to squeeze his wrist, and her smile is soft, eyes understanding.

“There’s not much you could have done, sweetheart. I was happier knowing you were off living your own dreams. We’re all here, now, aren’t we?”

Niall nods, feels Harry shift beside him. Doesn’t know what it means.

“We are. We’re all here, now.”

 

-

 

They spend a while longer with Anne. It isn’t until Harry’s walking him down the drive to his car that Niall remembers he’d been meaning to ask about Liam. Harry laughs at the question, slowing his stride.

“Working at the fire hall, just like he always wanted. He was part of a crew off fighting the wild fires, actually. Just got back this past week.”

Niall can’t help but feel excited at the fact that Liam’s in town. Liam was always like a brother to him, always dependable.

“How about Louis?”

Harry frowns thoughtfully.

“I think he came back after he finished school. You’ll have to ask Liam for sure, I haven’t really run into him since. And I use, you know, a trustworthy dentist.”

Niall lets out a laugh, louder than he intended, and Harry grins, pleased to have the joke appreciated.

“Poor Lou, he’s probably great with the kids. Scares them all into flossing so they don’t have to go under the drill.”

Harry snorts, leaning against the car.

“Yeah, I’m sure. He always was good at fooling the right people.”

Niall smiles, leaning next to Harry. The sun’s sinking down behind the mountains again, and the sky is orange, air cool. Harry’s hair is down, soft curls that catch on the breeze. Niall watches for a moment, takes in the way they frame his face.

“You still listened to my music,” he points out finally. Harry lets out a quiet laugh, lowering his gaze and scratching at his arm.

“I did.”

Niall licks his lips and nods, folding his arms so they’re not just hanging awkwardly at his sides.

“What’d you think?” he asks. Harry frowns slowly, thoughtfully. It’s a little while before he lifts his eyes back up to meet Niall’s.

“It was all good, obviously. Like, really good. It all sounded so lively, and I liked that because you always said you struggled for that here. I thought for sure you’d get a deal, you know. Picked up right away. You had a lot of viewers.”

Niall nods. It’s true; he did. There hadn’t really been a lack of support from the people who listened to his stuff, from the friends he’d made.

“It got sadder, though,” Harry continues. Niall furrows his brow, but Harry doesn’t give him time to respond. “Like, not like you were doing more ballad-type stuff or anything, but just… I don’t really know. It was so good, but it didn’t feel like before.”

Niall opens his mouth, as if that might help him find the words to explain himself. But nothing comes, so he closes it again. Harry’s watching him still, searching his face for something.

“And then you stopped. And now you’re here.”

“Yeah,” is all Niall manages. Harry’s lips pull into a thoughtful little pout, and he reaches out, runs his hand down Niall’s arm in a way that’s both comforting and… more. His touch lingers. Niall wants nothing more than to reach out and hold him. Somewhere, deep down, he feels like crying again. Indecision flickers across Harry’s face, in the twitch of his lips, the way his eyes wander over Niall’s mouth before shooting back up like he didn’t realize what he was doing. He rubs his arm again, and drops his hand.

“Will you tell me? When you’re ready?” he asks. And he sounds just like the Harry Niall used to know, back when Niall would get moody and closed off and want to shut everyone out. Niall doesn’t feel like that, now, but he still doesn’t know how to put what happened into words. How to explain to Harry why he dropped everything when he was so close to the success he always wanted. He doesn’t know how to tell him that some things are more important.

“I will, yeah,” he promises, and offers a small smile. Harry struggles to return it, too busy studying him. But he stops leaning on the car and steps back, brushing his hands off on his jeans.

“I’ll call Liam, yeah? Maybe we can all go out for a drink,” he suggests. Niall unlocks the car and reaches to pull the door open, trying not to dwell on the swift topic change.

“Yeah, for sure! Get him to ask Louis, too. I’m always free.”

Harry nods in agreement. Niall climbs into the car and returns his wave, pulling his seatbelt on. As he drives off down the street, he glances in the rearview mirror. Harry’s still standing there, staring off after his car. Niall wonders if Harry’s thinking about the last time he turned that final corner at the end of the road, when they thought Niall was leaving for good. Wonders if Harry’s thinking about how this time, he isn’t. Wonders if it makes it easier for him to breathe.

 

-

 

It’s surprisingly easy to slip back into friendship with Liam and Louis, once they’re all together. They make fun of Louis for going into dentistry, of all things, and listen to Liam’s war stories from the front lines of the wildfire fight. Louis hasn’t changed much; his features are sharper and his arms toned, but he’s still got that raggedy haircut and a quick tongue that leaves Niall breathless with laughter. Liam’s tall and broad, and looks more like a man than any of the rest of them, with his hair short and chin all scruffy. Niall can so easily picture him out there helping keep the fires at bay, heroic heart beating in his chest. He’s always admired Liam and his selflessness the most. The more he drinks the more in love with all of them he feels; he hasn’t laughed this hard in so long, hasn’t felt this comfortable in months. They’re the true sorts of friends, he thinks. The ones who understand that sometimes you have to go off and do your own thing and find yourself. The ones who will always take you back, who never hold your radio silence against you.

They stay out until last call, and then stumble into the street, bouncing off each other as they make their way down the road. It’s not a short walk home, but taxis aren’t really a thing here and road sense is. Louis peels off first, because he lives right in town behind the dental practice. Niall hugs him tight, laughing when Louis shoves playfully at him before reciprocating the embrace.

“Good to have you back, Nialler,” he mutters in his ear, simple as anything. That’s how Louis’ always been, though. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow or anything beyond. Just accepts the moment. Niall squeezes him more.

“Good to be back, Lou,” he breathes. When he finally releases him, he sees the warmth in Louis’ eyes. It’s the first time he thinks, real and solid, that he might like to stay here for a long while. And then Louis is gone, slipping inside his house and vanishing from sight. Niall misses him already, the older brother Greg never really was, the one who fiercely had his back through everything. Louis was crazy, but he was also a firm voice of reason when you needed it most. Niall makes a mental note to thank him fully, later, for everything he ever did. He gives the house a little salute and links his arms with Harry and Liam, trying to make them skip off down the street. Liam joins right in. Harry trots along in protest.

Liam lives at the edge of town, now, with the girlfriend Niall only just heard about tonight. Liam showed him a picture, and Niall could hardly believe he’d managed to get someone so stunning. But also could, because Liam deserves so much of the best. He hugs them both before he goes inside, claps his hand down on Niall’s shoulder and squeezes firmly, eyes sparkling. Niall laughs, putting his hand over Liam’s.

“I know,” he says, and Liam’s eyes crinkle with warmth.

“Come for dinner sometime. Soon,” he urges. Niall nods.

“I will. Sophia sounds just amazing, mate.”

Liam chuckles, swaying a little. He pulls his hand from Niall’s shoulder to tease his hair. Niall can’t find it in himself to shove his hand away.

“She’s fantastic. She’ll love you. I’m gonna marry her, one day.”

Niall shakes his head at him, trying to steer him toward the house. Beside him, Harry grins.

“Alright, mate. Might want to sober up first, though, yeah?”

Liam nods, starting easily toward the door.

“Gonna buy her a ring.”

Niall catches Harry’s eye, and it’s all he can do to keep from laughing.

“Big fat ring, alright, Liam.”

They wait patiently for Liam to locate his key, watch him slide it into the lock. He pulls the door open, and then turns to hug Niall again, tight and warm.

“Stay awhile, Nialler. We love you.”

Niall rubs his back, hooks his chin over his shoulder.

“Love you, too, Liam. You have a good sleep, okay?”

It takes another minute or so for Harry to help get Liam off of him. They send him inside with a reminder to be quiet, but even drunk Liam’s always been so kind that Niall’s sure Sophia won’t be too mad. They pull the door closed behind him, and Niall turns to look at Harry, laughing.

“I missed him, the big oaf,” he admits. Harry grins.

“He’s been planning his engagement since their six-month anniversary. One day he’ll buy that ring.”

Niall snorts, starting back to the street.

“Always been hopeless, hasn’t he?”

Harry hums in agreement. When they reach the sidewalk again, he gives Niall a small smile, a soft smile, and offers his hand. It takes Niall a moment to understand that he’s meant to hold it; Harry falters when he just stares, but Niall reaches to grab it before his friend can change his mind, heartbeat reverberating off the walls of his chest and echoing through his ears. He’s pleasantly drunk and warm and the feeling of Harry’s fingers tangled between his own is somehow familiar, still. Harry lets out a quiet breath. Relief, Niall thinks.

“Let’s get home, yeah?” Harry suggests. Niall nods and leans into him. They walk slowly, now. Niall hums _Fly Me to the Moon_ into Harry’s shoulder. Harry squeezes his hand. They make their way down another road, the streetlights buzzing quietly with electricity, the only other sound in the night.

“This is where we danced after we skipped out on the spring dance,” Harry points out quietly, like he’s afraid to break the silence. Niall lifts his head to look around, and realizes that it is. He laughs, low and easy.

“After Holly showed up with Andy.”

One of the most dramatic nights of his highschool career, he’d never forget it. But Harry’d dragged him out of the sweaty gym and told him to stop feeling sorry for himself, and a radio somewhere had been playing whatever song happened to be popular at the time. And one minute they were stumbling and laughing and the next, dancing, close and sincere. Before Niall ever even knew that Harry was where his heart belonged.

“Yeah,” Harry shakes his head, his anger long forgotten now. He comes to a stop and looks at Niall, thoughtful. Niall raises an eyebrow.

“Harry,” he murmurs, leaning in closer, “are you going to ask me to dance?”

Harry grins, his hand finding Niall’s shoulder.

“I believe you just asked me, actually.”

Niall sighs at him, but it breaks into another laugh as he slides his arm around him.

“Can’t promise I’ll be any good, I’ve had a few too many.”

Harry smirks a little.

“Can’t remember you being any good sober, either.”

Niall gives him a look, firming his lips together in feigned annoyance.

“We both know who’s the one with two left feet, here,” he points out. Harry looks wounded.

“I’m not sure I want to dance any more, if you’re going to be like that.”

Niall knows he’s joking, but he tightens his grip on him, anyway. He doesn’t remember a thing about how to actually dance, so he just steps forward and to the side and back and trusts Harry to follow. Harry stumbles, at first, then figures out the pattern and laughs. And his laugh is boyish and carefree and Niall feels a rush of warmth through his chest. He steps to hold him closer, his Harry, the one who’s always made everything worth it. Rests his chin on his shoulder. Feels Harry lean in, too, his breath in his ear. His arm slide around Niall more until he’s squeezing him tight, and then Niall hears the sniffle and stops dancing and just holds him, lets him wrap himself around Niall as best he can, rubs his back as his breaths turn ragged.

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbles against his hair, where his fingers have tangled tight through it, “I’m drunk and I missed you and I used to walk here every day and think about how I’d never get to dance with you again.”

Niall squeezes him tighter, the words sharp in his ribcage. He can feel his heart wither with it, the quiet admission, the thought of Harry stopping to miss him. His Harry, the one he left. The one he gave up to follow something he thought would make him happy, when everything that makes him happy ended up being right here all along.

“I still can’t believe you’re here. My mum dropped a plate when I told her you were back, it shattered across the floor. I don’t know why she dropped it. I think I surprised her.”

Niall would laugh if it weren’t so tragic, if Harry weren’t clutching onto him as if he was afraid he might vanish into thin air. He can picture it so clearly, Harry accidentally creeping up behind Anne, telling her, ‘Niall’s back.’ And Anne dropping the plate. And the plate smashing into a hundred pieces. Harry pulls back a little, looks down at him with watery eyes. Niall reaches to stroke a thumb underneath one, wiping at a tear.

“I need to know why you’re back,” Harry mumbles, “I need to know for how long.”

Niall cups his cheek gently in his hand. Harry looks so young, so vulnerable, and Niall can’t say he doesn’t feel the same. Can’t say he doesn’t feel like they’re seventeen years old and still trying to figure out what love means. Niall feels like they’re closer to the answer now, though. Harry’s jaw trembles.

“Why I’m back is… it’s a kind of long story,” he explains, “you know, one of those ones that’s not _really_ long, but is, like you have to be sitting down to tell it. And sober,” he gives Harry a small smile. Harry bites his lip.

“And when’re you leaving again?”

Niall sighs quietly, because it’s a question he still doesn’t know the answer to for certain. He can’t guarantee that he won’t ever want to run away again. He can’t guarantee that he won’t be just as selfish the second time. He’s learned so much, about himself, about what he needs, but there are some things you just can’t change. Not all at once, anyway.

“I don’t know, I… I know I’m staying for the month, at least. But after it depends, if I could find a job, if I could find a place…”

Harry nods a little, and the tears start to brim over again. Niall curls his hand around the back of his neck, trying to hold him tighter.

“But Harry, I don’t want to leave you again,” he looks him right in the eye when he says it, a promise. He’s broken plenty of those, but never to Harry. Not once to Harry. “I don’t. I can’t. I tried it once, and it didn’t work. I don’t want to leave you again. I’m not going to.”

Harry nods, and takes a deep breath. Niall brushes at his tears again, for him.

“I love you. I want to stay with you. You’re the only one, I swear you’re the only one.”

Harry takes another breath, lets out a self-deprecating laugh.

“God, I’m sorry, I-”

Niall shakes his head, smiling reassuringly.

“It’s nothing, Harry. It’s late, everything’s kind of weird, we have so much to talk about. Just let me take you home, yeah? Let me take you home, and you can come by in the morning. And we can talk, okay? Just me and you.”

Harry nods again, straightens up a little. Niall rubs his side, tries to ignore the curve of his hip and the memories it sparks. It takes everything in him to step back.

 

-

 

It was one of the things he learned, while in the city. While watching his friends fuck around and fall in love and out of love. While trying to do the same for himself. That nobody would ever be Harry, or even come close. Niall always thought he could sacrifice love for his art, he always thought that meant he was strong. But he’d started to see that he was just scared of it, of how much he needed Harry around. He’d started to see that he was as much running toward a dream as he was running away from the dependency he’d started to develop on the other boy. He’d started to think he’d made the biggest mistake of his life, and that was when the tide had turned against him.

 

-

 

He gives Harry a long hug goodnight. Kisses his cheek and promises again to see him the next day. Squeezes through the door of his own house and tiptoes up the stairs and to bed, and falls into a deep sleep. If he dreams of anything, he doesn’t remember it in the morning.

 

-

 

Harry comes over around noon the next day. Niall’s still nursing a bit of a hangover, and he can tell Harry’s not much better off, but he greets him with a bright smile and watches as Harry looks around the mud room.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been here,” he kicks off his shoes, and laughs, “barely changed, though, from what I remember.”

Niall nods, feeling for a moment like he’s letting Harry into his safe zone. Where everything’s just as he left it, all those years ago. The thought isn’t as terrifying as it should be.

“Bobby’s like that,” he replies fondly. Harry shakes his head.

“It’s nice.”

They go upstairs, into the living room. The couches are old, and a deep, forest green. There are embers in the fire, evidence of the colder nights they’ve had, but Niall’s been leaving it to burn itself out during the days. It feels like just yesterday that he got back, but it also feels like he’s been here forever with how familiar everything’s become. In reality, it’s been a couple weeks. His boxes are still unpacked, but he’s fallen into a sort of routine, fixing things up that Bobby hasn’t had time to get to, stocking the fridge, visiting with friends and family. He let Rebecca take him kayaking, the other day, just the two of them on the water. Talked about the baby, mostly, and how she probably won’t be able to run the ski shop once the due date creeps closer. The shop is like her first born, the first place she found a real footing for herself when she came here. It’s been eight years since she opened it; a good eight years. Niall assured her that someone would take care of it, that she’s not going to lose everything else just because she’s about to be a mom. It feels funny, to tell her that she doesn’t have to choose between the things she loves; it makes him think.

He offers Harry hot chocolate, but Harry makes a face.

“My stomach’s not doing too great today, I don’t want to be puking that up later.”

Niall hums in agreement, sinking next to him on the couch. He’s been thinking about the night before all morning, about the way Harry held him and the things they both said. Harry’s never been great at hiding his emotions, and even if he keeps telling Niall everything’s okay Niall can see that he pain he caused Harry hasn’t just gone away. He’s sat with some distance between them, now, and Niall doesn’t feel comfortable trying to close that gap.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Harry looks over at him, eyes still puffy and tired. Niall shakes his head.

“Don’t be, please. I think it was… good,” he reassures him, tucking his hands under his thighs so he doesn’t chew at his nails. Harry doesn’t look so sure.

“I don’t want you to think, like, that I’m… I don’t know, that I’m angry at you or upset or anything. Because I’m not. It’s just, all come rushing back, I guess, seeing you again.”

He hunches in on himself, awkwardly. Niall nudges his ankle with his toes, trying to get him to relax more.

“I don’t think that,” he reassures him, “I know it’s been weird, it’s like we never really had closure for anything…” he drifts off, frowning down at the bits of red flecked in the pattern on the couch. “I meant what I said, though. I really did. For whatever it’s worth. I said I’d explain why I came back, and it’s just… that I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t do it without you. I could hardly play my guitar at all, they – they offered me a record deal and I botched it up and all I could think about was how I had to see you, how I just needed you to tell me everything was gonna be okay.”

He’s afraid to look at Harry, admitting that. It felt so easy last night, to tell him he still loved him. To tell him there could be no one else. Now, with the sun breaking through the clouds outside and Harry right there, small and uncertain, it feels like all too much. He just lets the words come out and tries his best not to regret them, already feeling like he’s said everything wrong.

Harry lets out a slow breath, his hands twisting in his lap. Niall’s almost afraid to breathe, waiting to hear what he has to say. From the way Harry’s face is still closed off and thoughtful, it isn’t going to be what Niall wants to hear most. Though, he always knew it was too much to hope for.

“So… you came back because of me?” Harry asks, finally. Carefully, like he’s not sure he understood correctly. Niall digs his fingers into the undersides of his thighs, nerves buzzing up into his chest.

“Not… _because_ of you. More, like… like I made a mistake. Like I needed to fix it. Like I needed _you_ , and I know that’s selfish after what I did and I don’t expect you to just, welcome me with open arms or anything, but I need you, Harry. I really do, just, however I can… however you’ll let me,” he lets it all out in a rush, trying to push down the desperation that rises through his throat. Harry’s quiet again. He still won’t look at Niall, and Niall doesn’t know what to make of that. He’s starting to think he hurt Harry worse than he ever realized. There’s a panicked voice in his mind telling him that the things that were broken can never be repaired.

“This is just so… complicated,” Harry replies after a long moment, speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully. He rubs his face. He looks pale, weary. “When I saw you, I just kind of knew, you know? That you could’ve done anything to me and I would’ve still felt the same. And that made me think, like. About what you _did_ do.”

Harry’s voice catches, and Niall feels a lump rise in his throat. He snaps his head up to look at Harry, sees the pain written clear across his face.

“Harry, I –”

Harry shakes his head.

“It’s okay, Niall,” he mumbles, all too calm about it, like he’s come to accept that this is just the way the world works, “you just broke my heart, is all. When I needed you most. I know I told you to go, I wanted you to go, but you should’ve stayed. Our lives went on, too, you know. We’ve all changed, you don’t really know us and we don’t really know you. And it’s not bad, it’s just different.”

Niall can only listen quietly, though the ache in his heart feels like it’s expanding out of his chest, coursing through to the rest of him. His stomach sinks down, desperate regret filling in all of his empty spaces. Because he knows, he’s known this whole time and Harry’s the only one who’s been brave enough to say it out loud. He let them all down, left them all behind. Everything’s not okay, not really. Harry continues on, and Niall can see that his lower lip’s raw from where he’s been chewing on it.

“I guess I’m trying to say I still feel something for you,” he admits quietly, “but I don’t know if it’s you or like… my memory of you. And I just… when I think about you, all I can think about is how it felt to see you leave. And I just couldn’t do that again, Niall, and I don’t know… I mean, you say you wouldn’t leave me, but I don’t _know_ that,” Harry shifts in his seat, runs a hand through his hair. His lips press into a thin little line, and he just looks so sad. Niall can’t help but blame himself for making him feel that way. He just wants to hold him, but he can see now that that isn’t his place any more. That he doesn’t deserve that privilege.

“I understand,” he speaks quietly, because he doesn’t trust himself not to cry again. He feels suddenly exhausted. Harry looks over at him, but quickly lowers his gaze, like staring at him for too long will only make this more unbearable than it already is. Everything he’s said is true. Niall himself can’t even say whether he’ll want to leave again, and as much as he loves Harry, needs Harry… he’s talked himself into doing it once before. He wants to believe that this time is different. He just can’t, yet.

“I don’t know what to do,” Harry admits quietly. “I don’t want to lose you again. I don’t want to push you away and have you never come back. But I have to take care of myself, too.”

Niall nods, his throat clenching up. It’s like the break up they never had, and he’s suddenly consumed by the thought that he might never hold Harry in that way again, that he might never kiss Harry again, that he might never wake up beside him on a cold winter morning and reach to brush the hair from his sleepy eyes. Somehow, through all those years, he never let go of the possibility of having all of that. But now that he’s here, listening to Harry speak, he can see how he might have to. It hurts him more than anything else so far.

“You won’t lose me,” he tells him softly, looking up at him again. “This, us… you do what you need to do. God knows you gave me enough time. Take as much as you need. If you decide –” he breaks off, taking a deep breath and forcing down the tears that threaten, “if you decide you can’t do it all again, that’s okay. I’ll always be your friend.”

Harry’s eyes are red-rimmed. He nods a little, gripping the edge of the couch. His next breath is shaky, but Niall can tell he’s trying to be strong.

“I think we just… have to see. You know? Take some time. Figure each other out again.”

All Niall can do is nod. He does his best to fight back the rush of emotion, tries to force a smile. It comes out tight and lopsided.

“I think you’re right,” he tells him, even if it kills him to do it. Because his heart is screaming no, telling him it’s wrong. His heart is telling him that he needs Harry _right now_. He can’t listen to it, though, for Harry’s sake. He’s done being selfish, done playing by his own rules. Harry gives him a small smile back, and Niall wishes they could both just cry and hug it out like they used to. Wake up tomorrow and have it be a new day. But it doesn’t work like that, any more. They’ve grown up too much. Harry pulls himself to his feet, and Niall has no choice but to let him leave. He stands quickly, however, reaches to touch his arm, to keep him for another moment.

“I want to try, though,” he adds. He pinches the fabric of his sweater between his fingers, curls his hand in it. “I couldn’t – I can’t not try. Not when it’s you.”

It’s all he can do to keep the tears at bay. Harry bites his lip. His hands twitch, but they stay by his sides.

“I just can’t promise anything, Niall. I don’t want either of us to be disappointed.”

They don’t hug this time, when Harry goes. Just sort of stand their awkwardly, and then Harry gives him a wave and starts back off down the street. Niall watches him from the window, but Harry doesn’t look back.

He sits for a while, once he’s gone. Lets everything sink in. Feels terribly, terribly sorry for himself and terribly, terribly ashamed. But he knows Harry’s right. It’s like, for Niall, when his mom left and he felt that he could never trust her again. When he blamed her for years but ended up doing the exact same thing, trying to escape from this town and its suffocation and her ghost. When he finally saw her at Christmas two years back, he realized that all of the hatred and resentment he’d always directed at her was nothing more than a wall he’d built up to hide what he truly felt – abandoned, alone, lost. He’d forgiven her then and there. But things had never quite been the same. He was still afraid, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He doesn’t know how to fix it, with Harry. He doesn’t know much of anything, any more.

Eventually, he remembers the guitar in the basement. He hasn’t played since he got back, hadn’t really been playing those last few months in the city. It was some sort of writer’s block, which had done him in. He’d been offered the deal just under a year ago, a real record deal with a small-time label. He had a good amount of songs written already, and he’d had fun recording them. But when it came time to add more, to work on new things, he’d shut down. Nothing had sounded right, and the world he’d built up around himself started to crumble. If it had all happened even a year earlier, he probably would have completed the album, would probably be touring now in seedy bars in far away cities. But the opportunity had come right when everything started to feel empty. And the feeling persisted and persisted until he couldn’t even look at his guitar without feeling like ripping himself open, and he’d never known why, never been able to figure out when his passion had turned to dust.

In the middle of it all, he’d gone into a coffee shop. Up on the board they’d written a Joke of the Day: “What are a ninja’s favourite shoes? Sneakers”. Immediately, he thought of Harry and the dumb coffee cups he always gave him when Niall was feeling down. It was like the sign he’d been waiting for, the lifeline finally tossed out to him. Giving him something to cling to. Suddenly, Niall needed Harry. So much he could hardly breathe.

He pulled out of the deal. A few weeks later, he was gone.

 

-

 

It takes him a few minutes to find the guitar. It’s stuffed in the back of the storage space, on top of an old tent nobody ever uses. It’s covered in a thin layer of dust. He brushes it off and sneezes a few times, holding the instrument tight. A couple of the strings have snapped, and the others look like they’re probably close. He frowns, reflecting that he even abandoned his very first guitar to the past, to slowly break and die.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles to it, running his fingers along the frets. It’s an old, cheap thing from Costco, but it’s his. It embodies everything he wishes he could recapture.

He takes it to the only guitar shop in town, watches like a hawk as they restring it for him. The man who does it, some old guy with a long, grey beard and sun-spotted hands, asks whether he’s sure he doesn’t want a new one. Niall shakes his head firmly.

“It has to be this one,” he explains, and the man doesn’t ask any more questions.

 

-

 

Bobby gets home right at six, and looks surprised to see Niall sitting there with the guitar in his lap, strumming away. Niall himself feels better than he has in ages, and that’s saying a lot considering he’s still half nursing his hangover. He glances up when Bobby comes in and gives him a smile, fingers never pausing. Bobby laughs and puts down his bag.

“I forgot how you played,” he admits in disbelief. Niall grins at the praise, leaning back against the couch.

“Me, too,” he confesses, and it’s true. He thought it would be harder, to get back into it. But it’s like he never even stopped at all, like his few weeks at home have filled him to the brim and given him all of whatever it was he was missing before. He’s played through most of the songs he was going to put on the album, and a couple of the ones he learned as a kid, and it’s all still there in his head. He feels pretty relieved about it.

It’s later in the evening that he explains to his dad what happened with Harry. Bobby listens and nods and hums in all the right places. Miraculously, Niall doesn’t cry.

“I think he’s right,” Bobby finally decides, once he’s heard the whole thing. Niall’s still got his guitar in his lap, though he’s not playing, now. More stroking the strings, finding comfort in the way they feel against his fingertips. “You do need time. You need to figure out what you really want. You need to show him that you’re ready, and if you’re not ready you need to let him go.”

It’s nothing Niall couldn’t figure out for himself. But it helps, to hear it from Bobby. Bobby makes it sound like there’s hope. And hope is what Niall needs most.

 

-

 

The days merge into weeks, and the weeks become months. He’s there when the leaves finish turning brown, when they’re all scattered across the ground and the trees stand tall and bone-bare over everything. He’s there for the first snowfall, face pressed to his window in the middle of the night, watching it swirl down. He meets up with Liam to build a giant snowman in his backyard, one that Sophia sighs at endlessly. Even as she insists on doing its face herself, with a cute little carrot nose and actual button eyes and one of Liam’s hats, that Niall helps her sneak outside when Liam’s busy making hot chocolate. He goes down to the pub with Louis every other week, beats him and pool and loses at darts. He visits Willie and Rebecca when he can, exclaiming at how big her stomach’s gotten, listening to Willie’s horror stories about late-night cravings that Rebecca insists are mostly made up or embellished. He starts helping her in the ski shop, too, selling to the winter tourists that start to filter in as the weather turns.

Occasionally, he stops by the coffee shop to bother Harry, or comes by his house. A few times, they grab a bite to eat. They go to the pool, race up the climbing wall. Harry joins him and Louis for drinks. They all celebrate together when Liam finally proposes and Sophia says yes. Niall feels as if his chest might explode, he’s so happy. Slowly, he becomes a part of their lives again. He uses their stories to fill in the blanks that five years have left. Liam asks them all to be his best men, for the wedding in June, and Niall says yes without hesitation. Harry’s smile is extra bright that night, and he hovers near Niall, and when he hugs him goodnight it isn’t as quick and careful as the ones Niall’s gotten used to. Niall just holds him tight back, thinking about the way home’s become home again. He’ll take over the ski shop while Rebecca has her baby, the kayak shop when summer comes. He’ll keep writing his music and hoping something all works out.

 

-

 

As Christmas creeps closer, Niall digs out his old audio/video equipment, starts recording covers again in his spare time. When he puts one on YouTube, he gets a call from Harry the very next day.

“You’re putting up music again,” Harry tells him, as if Niall isn’t aware of his own actions.

“Been thinking about it for a while, finally worked up the courage,” Niall laughs. He can picture Harry smile, hears a kettle going in the background of the call. He’s probably got one of his holiday jumpers on, and a pair of nice warm socks.

“It was nice,” Harry says finally, “it sounded good.”

Niall allows himself a pleased little grin, feeling his cheeks heat up. He knows it was good, because he wouldn’t have posted it otherwise. Knows in theory. But it means something else to hear it, especially from Harry.

“Thanks,” he replies softly. Harry’s quiet for a minute. The kettle stops.

“Come get coffee with me,” he finally says, determined now. Niall feels a rush of warmth run through him, an eagerness that catches him by surprise.

“When?” he asks, though as far as he’s concerned it doesn’t really matter. He’ll be there.

“Tomorrow?” Harry asks, and he sounds happy, pleased, “like, around ten?”

Niall’s smile grows, the warmth spreading.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees.

“Okay.”

There’s another stretch of silence, comfortable, but full of a buzz of unsaid things. Niall tries to bite back the grin that’s taken over his face, excitement welling up in his chest. It’s only coffee, and he’s gotten coffee with Harry a thousand times before. But this one feels different. This one feels promising.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he tries to keep his voice even, to not let his hopes climb too high.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Harry agrees, and it’s a moment before the line clicks dead. Niall hangs up the phone and takes a deep breath. Wills his heart to steady itself.

 

-

 

He shuffles into the coffee shop late that December morning, boots firmly on his feet, jacket zipped up over his chin. The snow’s been coming down hard all week, and it’s crusted onto his toque even during the short walk from his car. Harry’s already sitting there, in a warm-looking jumper, curls slightly wilted and damp. He grins when he sees Niall, stands a bit abruptly. Niall laughs, tugging off his toque and unzipping his coat as he weaves through the tables.

“You made it!” Harry greets him, leaning to hug him before he can even get his jacket off. Niall nods, clumsily wrapping his arms around him.  
“You know the snow can’t stop the locals,” he points out. He shrugs out of his jacket when Harry releases him, throws it over the back of the chair and sits himself down. There are already two coffees on the table. He reaches for his, wordlessly spins it until he finds the joke written below the rim.

“You’re incorrigible,” he groans, ignoring the smug look on Harry’s face. Harry watches him intently as he leans to read it.

“What did the police man say to his belly button?” Niall reads aloud. Harry chortles, lifting his coffee cup to his mouth like that might suppress his giggles.

“Dunno,” he replies, as if he didn’t write it. Niall sighs, and slides the sleeve down.

“Oh my god.”

“Read it!” Harry urges, leaning forward more. Niall rolls his eyes, running his thumb over the familiar scrawl.

“You’re under a vest,” he finishes flatly. Harry laughs, anyway, ducks his head down and curls over his coffee. Niall would punch him, if he weren’t so fond of him.

“Where do you even get these?” he asks. Harry just laughs harder, shaking his head and pressing his hand to his face. Niall does his best not to smile, takes a small sip of his coffee and waits for Harry to calm down. It takes a minute or two, but finally Harry leans back, taking a deep breath. There are tears at the corners of his eyes.

“You’re honestly not that funny,” Niall tries to tell him, but Harry just shakes his head, pressing his lips together as another bout of giggles threatens. Niall kicks at his toe under the table. Harry just wraps his ankles around Niall’s foot, effectively trapping it there. Niall lets him.

“I’m pretty funny,” Harry decides. Niall shakes his head in disagreement, but if Harry notices (he does), he pretends not to. They sip their drinks quietly, for a moment. Sneaking glances at each other. When their eyes meet, Harry doesn’t look away. Niall gives him a little smile, and Harry clears his throat, setting his cup down.

“Anyway, I’ve kind of… been thinking,” he begins. Niall nods. His stomach twists, a little, in anticipation of what Harry’s going to say.

“I’ve been thinking,” Harry continues, “ and I think, like… I don’t know. In the beginning, when you left, I got it. That you needed time. But I think I sort of forgot that, the longer you were gone. I forgot it was as much my choice to let you go as it was yours to leave, even if I needed you, even if you should’ve probably stayed. It was just, the longer you were away, the more it hurt. Like you abandoned me and didn’t need me anymore, and that killed me, because I felt like I always needed you.”

Niall moves to speak, but Harry shakes his head a little, going on.

“The thing is, though, that through it all I never loved you less. You never did anything to make me love you less,” he lowers his voice, and his eyes go soft. Niall feels a little pang in his chest. Some of the guilt he’s felt, all this time, seems to ease. “Nothing you did… nothing you could’ve done, it’s just always been you,” Harry explains. It sends a flood of relief through Niall. Just knowing that Harry feels the same.

Harry pauses, lets his words hang there a moment. He sips his coffee before continuing, shifts closer in his seat and leans his elbows on the table. His gaze never strays from Niall’s, now.

“It just, hurt so much that I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to turn, and when you came back, out of nowhere, it just… took me by surprise. And I wanted to be mad because I’d spent so long just, waiting for you, it felt like, and there you were. And at first it was like, you’d just been expecting me to still be there. Like I was always gonna be here and you would just, go off again when you got tired of things.”

He licks his lips, lowering his gaze.

“But I think… I was thinking that maybe it wasn’t like that, after all. Like maybe we were just… waiting for each other. You in that city and me here. Maybe neither of us knew what we were doing when we were eighteen and this is all just, us finally figuring it out. What’s important.”

He gives a little nod, as if to indicate that he’s finished. Niall feels himself smile, at the sincerity of his words. Harry’s got his hand curled on top of the table, and Niall reaches for it, wrapping his fingers around the other boy’s. Harry looks up at him, hopeful, gives his hand a little squeeze back. Niall smiles more.

“I was thinking the same,” he tells him. He runs his thumb along the ridges of Harry’s knuckles, gives his ankle a little nudge. Harry starts to relax.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, then. I thought it was what I had to do. But being out there, all alone… without you…” he smiles ruefully, shaking his head, “it wasn’t worth it. I used to watch people who were together and I’d just think about you, wonder what you were doing, if you were seeing anyone. And then I’d get worried because what if you were, and I’d think how you didn’t belong with anyone but me. How I was the only one who could look after you properly. And it was like, then why am I here? And not there? And I never had the answer.”

He frowns a little. Harry nods, watching him earnestly.

“People listened to my music. They liked it. They wanted to hear more. But when I went to sleep at night, all I wanted was you,” he squeezes Harry’s hand tighter, looks back at him and hopes he understands that this is the bare, honest truth. His heart splayed out on the table. “I always needed you, Harry. Always have. I think I always will. I never expected you to wait, but I hoped you would, I hoped to god I’d come back and you’d be right here. And you were. And I honestly don’t care, if we go back to what we were, or if we just stay friends. I just – I want you in my life. Whatever happens. These past few months, I’ve felt more like myself than I have in a long, long time. And I feel it most when I’m with you.”

Harry carefully turns his hand, sliding his fingers between Niall’s. He squeezes tight. Niall lets out laugh, but it catches in his throat, and it’s then that he realizes his cheeks are wet with tears. He reaches with his free hand to wipe at them, laughing again and sniffling quietly. Harry smiles, so gently.

“Oh, Niall,” he breathes. Niall shakes his head, trying to cover his face.

“I’m not crying,” he insists. Harry laughs and scoots his chair over, folds his arms around him and pulls him close. Something inside of Niall releases, falls, disappears. He melts against his friend, slips his arms around his neck and presses his face against his shoulder. Harry hugs him tight. Niall feels his lips press to the top of his head. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone like Harry, honestly. But even if it’s all some fluke of fate, he’s not going to let him go.

“I love you, Niall,” Harry murmurs to him, against his hair, “I always will.”

 

-

 

It’s New Year’s Eve, and they’ve all gathered at Bobby’s. Niall spent the whole damn day carving out a path and fire pit through the snow in the yard, and he was grumpy about it until everyone started arriving. He soon forgot his woes in the comfort of their company. Bobby cooked up a giant pot of spaghetti, and they sat around the table and ate it and opened leftover Christmas crackers. And then Louis systematically stole everyone’s prizes, of course.

They drink their beer and watch the ball drop in New York, three hours in the future, and then dig out Niall’s old toboggans and take them to the hill across the road, hike up and up to the very top and then sail down, screaming and laughing like they’re twelve years old again. Louis gives Liam a face wash, and Liam retaliates by shoving snow down his back. Niall uses Harry as a shield, when necessary, though he does his best to defend him from the snow balls Louis starts launching. At 11:30, they make their way back to the house to gather up the champagne and hot chocolate and marshmallows, then collect around the big fire Bobby’s been stoking at the edge of the back yard.

It’s cold out, of course, where the heat of the flames doesn’t touch them. The sky is a deep, navy blue, and the stars are bright and clear as anything behind the inky silhouettes of the tall pines. There’s a break in the trees along the ridge, and they can see out across the valley. Off in the distance is the lake, but it blends with the black of the mountains, which stand tall and impressive and motionless. Christmas lights still shine on all the houses in the town  
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Niall’s bundled up, scarf and toque and fleece and down jacket and mitts and snow pants. Louis tells him he’s gone soft to the weather, as he sits there in jeans and a sweater, shivering away. Bobby pokes at the fire. Liam keeps trying to feed marshmallows to Sophia, who keeps handing them off to Louis. Harry leans into Niall’s side, eyes intent on his phone, watching the countdown to midnight. Niall can’t help but watch him, his face so soft in the glow of the screen, curls dark against his forehead.

“Twenty seconds,” he mumbles.

“Louis, they’re for my _fiancée_ ,” Liam grumbles across the fire.

“Shut up, Liam,” Louis snaps back good-naturedly, happily taking the perfectly roasted marshmallow Sophia’s just offered him.

“Both of you be quiet,” Niall instructs, glancing over, “Louis, stop stuffing your face and get the champagne ready.”

Louis doesn’t say anything. Probably flips him and Liam off, but Niall’s attention’s back on Harry. He presses closer, looking down at the screen. Twelve seconds.

“Get ready,” Harry sits up a little. Niall glances around, to make sure they’re all paying attention. For once, they seem to be, Louis grabbing the champagne bottle determinedly.

“Ten,” Harry starts, and they join him for the countdown. Niall looks out over the valley, his heart swelling with happiness. It’s quiet, but not too quiet. His cheeks are numb. So are his hands, for that matter. He reaches for one of Harry’s, squeezes it tight.

“Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!”

Louis shakes the champagne and pops the cork, sends it flying up into the air. Gets the contents of the bottle all over Liam’s boots and the fire. Somewhere below, fireworks go off. Niall watches them shoot high into the sky, red and blue and yellow and green, and then a woolly mitt finds his face and his head’s being pulled carefully around. He goes easily, grins when he finds Harry’s smiling face looking back at him.

“Happy New Year,” Harry whispers.

Niall leans in closer, until his nose bumps Harry’s. They’ll move in together, come January. He’ll keep making his music, try to pick up a few gigs at the pub. Maybe go in to the city to finish his album, but he won’t stay longer than he has to. Harry’s gotten promoted at the paper, though he insists he’s still going to talk to old people. For the pound cakes, he says, but Niall knows he just loves to hear their stories.

“Happy New Year,” he whispers back.

When Harry kisses him, his lips are soft and warm. He tastes like marshmallows and hot chocolate. Tastes kind of like forever, too. Tastes like the only reason Niall will ever need to stay.

 

-

 

_Fin._


End file.
